Tunneling
by ShinobiOfTheDarkness
Summary: She lived in a coffin of solitude; shattered and broken...until she met him. SasuSaku GaaSaku ALL FLAMES ARE WELCOME
1. The Initiation

**A/N:** I have no idea what the pairings for this story will be-if there are going to be any, can't decide between GaaSaku and SasuSaku. If you liked my story 'Stalker Soup', then you won't like this. The next chapter of SS will be up later today(I meant to post it three days ago-sorry people), this is just to blow of some steam. This chappie is a poem, next is the real beginning. Oh yeah, three words my people: I'm not emo.

**Disclaimer:** The only thing I own is this story, so back off 'cause it's mine. The poem belongs to me…almost, I got some help from one of my friends. All dibs go to her and me.

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Tunneling

Chapter One: The Initiation

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'_When the dead come to your door, answer them all._'

-Rie-chan

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Dead are trapped in your mind

Dieing ghosts lay ashen.

Shattered and broken, spread around,

Horrendous screams

Cause bleeding at the sound.

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Watching eyes,

Desperate valour

Circle ye now

Stagger to thy knees,

Beg for thy pleasure

Twisted, desperate pleas.

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Dark is the night; black is my soul,

The creatures are fighting, crawling out of their holes.

Ripping and clawing, tearing of flesh

This is the life, this is the best.

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Preachers must fight, take up their arms

Smite the Devil, break thy bonds.

Now Satan come calling by howling winds

Tortured shrieks through silver moon;

Blood running brightly, red stains the ground

All is forgotten, dead and bound.

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All to feel the stinging

All to see the blood;

Dieing is my staple

Desolation by the flood.

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Crazy is my middle name

Torture is the best of games,

Whips they leave the darkest welts

Chains they cut like leather belts.

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The blood it screams from thy wounds

Marks of thy pain.

Raven call and hammered blows,

Final wishes, forgotten foes.

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Anguish, I cause it

Death, I bear;

Thine instrument of devastation

Lacerate thy flesh.

From my knives, shackles, ropes

Comes the contact of the screams,

Now thy wounds are facets

Of the sanity I do dream.

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The world, it falls to fatal destruction

Fate, it strikes the final blow.

To you, come hither for now I call

Descend upon death row.

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**A/N:** So, I admit it, that is messed up to the nether reaches of hell, but cut me some slack because I'm already cursing poetry to the dark abysses. I had a horrible time trying to put that in order and as you can tell, I didn't actually succeed in that task. Well that's over, this is really just to stress the point of this fic. If anyone has any ideas as to how I can fix this, pray tell, otherwise I'm probably going to delete this…not that you care. Point of interest, that poem is called "Darkest Games".

**Something Random:** Cow is a Japanese brand of shaving foam.

Rie-chan


	2. The Introduction

**A/N:** This is the second chappie; it's best that you don't question me and that you just read it.

**Disclaimer:** Still my story, so beat it.

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Tunneling

Chapter Two: The Introduction

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"_Battle not with monsters  
lest ye become a monster  
and if you gaze into the abyss  
the abyss gazes into you."_

-Friedrich Nietzsche

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She had been hurt so much, broken, crushed, devastated, until she could no longer take the pain. So she took matters into her own hands, removed the pain, the problems, the disappointment…the emotions. She's forgotten how to truly smile, forgotten how to be happy-happiness is irrelevant she says-and how to love. The existence of love is beyond her comprehension-she threw it away too long ago to be able believe such a thing could exist. The beauty of the world is lost on her-she's given up on living-she exists in the darkness, in the loneliness. She speaks to no one, has no one, sees no one; she is alone. On the inside she is empty; at first she was scared of the sensation of feeling nothingness. Well, scared isn't the right word, she couldn't feel fear, that was gone too. It was more the knowledge that she should feel scared, terrified that is was all gone. Then she wondered if she should feel confused, but that sensation was gone too. It was all empty, gone, destroyed. This realization made her hysterical. Laugh manically at her success for she had finally done it. Everything she had strived for over all those years was hers, she had done it: she could no longer feel. She had shed the human aspect that had weighed her down for years. She would never have to experience pain again.

She became an object of curiosity over the years. It bothered her at first-counselors, physiatrists, psychologists all wanting to se her, explore her mind. They all believed they could crack her, help her, study her; they never got the chance. She left every single one of them or they left her; too confused by the strange way she acted or too embarrassed that they couldn't explain her. She wasn't a classic textbook case. She was suppose to be sad, emotional, angry, depressed, suicidal…something! Yet all they received were blank stares, vexing answers, complete silence or the most twisted of theories that baffled even the most experienced of minds. How could someone so young, someone who was supposed to be impressionable, could be so different…so cold.

She laughs at all the wrong moments-not because they're funny but because it's a release. Her mind, her subconscious, is begging to be set free; it never will be. Everything, her body, her mind, ever aspect of her meager existence is hers to control. She doesn't cry or smile, but she can make herself do it. She paints a mask for herself everyday when she must be in public, it's become a habit for her, like the way one might chew their nails or play with their hair. She hates it though-that feeling came back, the rage, the anger, it seethes out of her and frightens away all. She tried to make it disappear again but it wouldn't, so she feeds on it now, grows on it, lives of it. It has become easier to control these days; it's almost gone again. It leaves for such long periods of time that she almost believes it won't ever come back again. She is not naïve though, she knows it still lives on, the one thing that refuses to bend and break beneath her iron will, but that no longer matters. She doesn't mind it, if there ever was an emotion she had wanted to keep, it would be her rage. It can cause pain-she has to make all those who caused her too suffer pay-it can help her live, it lets her see clearly. It has removed that blanket that used to shroud her world and made her look for the good in everyone. Made her forgive her enemies, stopped her from holding grudges. Everyone deserves a second chance-that's what they always told her. No one ever gave her a second chance though; no one ever gave her room for a second impression. She was an outcast by definition and they wouldn't let that change, so why should she let them redeem themselves. She wasn't close-minded; she pitied the fools who were set in their own twisted ways. She never let anything cloud her judgment, everything was solid and precise. She was brilliant; they used her because of it. They never bothered to see what it was that beyond that lifeless expression when they approached her though. No, she was a walking encyclopedia to them. At first-when she could still feel-this brought her happiness even though she knew she was being used. It made her feel useful and wanted; she needed to feel wanted, had to feel wanted. Even if that meant sacrificing everything to get that. She gave up that silly little notion-it's another naïve trait that she ruthlessly beat out of herself. She needed no one, her independence become the only goal left in her mind. To distance herself from everything and everyone.

The world doesn't know she exists, no one does. She knows this and doesn't care, but I know she's here and I'll tell you all about her. Let you explore every gruesome and horrific detail of her life. Let you in on all the suffering she relives in the recesses of her mind-the silence of her broken soul. But oh, silly me, she doesn't believe she has a soul anymore, but instead, a hole. If there was to be something there she imagines it as something black, oily, and dieing; slithering across the ground in a pool of its own putrid stench and acrid slime. Dead, that's the word for it, dead. She's all dead inside but that doesn't matter to anyone more than her existence does.

So, my good people, to you I present Sakura, Haruno Sakura, at your service.

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**A/N:** Yeah, so if you hated that, well good for you. I don't really care and all flames are welcome. They just prove that you are really immature and they give me a good laugh. Well, next chapter we move on into the real story. Pairings still aren't decided.

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Thanx to just another dude who reviewed.

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**Something Random:** The Nike running shoe was actually first designed using a waffle iron.

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Ja everyone!


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